So shall the world go on
by Luscinnia
Summary: What would happen when London was haunted by an outbreak that makes the dead return and walk the streets again? How would a pathologist from St. Bartholomew's and a Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard cope with the situation? Molly is written by @rabenfrau. The Inspector by yours truly. Enjoy.
1. 01: Molly

She called them Zombies for fun. She never paid a second thought to that, never expected that this would become reality.

Molly Hooper was a pathologist, and she loved her job more than anything else. The cold and quiet morgue, where nothing and no one was able to disturb her while she listened to the stories her patients told her. With every cut she made, every layer of skin and every organ she removed, Molly got to know the person in front of her on the slab better.  
Heavy smoker? Alcoholic? Drug addict? Wrong diet?  
With a few simple movements of her hand holding a scalpel, and some tests later, Molly was able to find an answer for each an every question Scotland Yard and especially DI Lestrade asked for.  
And so she did just now.

The body in front of her was a strange one. There was some sort of bite on the woman's left thigh, quite nasty looking. The woman herself was a prostitute, going by the backround the Yard provided her with. But still.. this was too strange for a lovebite. No one would allow a lover to tore flesh out of oneself. For no money in the world, that's for certain. At least, it was for Molly. Cause of death wasn't the thigh-wound, of course. Someone just cut the woman's throat.  
A murder. As simple as that.

Molly stretched herself thoroughly when she finally stepped back from the slab. Working overtime wasn't new to her, and it didn't bother her much, but being trapped in her morgue for almost 3 days, barely able to find some sleep, made her appear and feel half dead. She even begrudged the woman on the slab.. a tiny little bit.

A small sigh passed her lips when she finally grabbed her phone to send a message to DI Lestrade. The signal was bad, but that wasn't new, down here, in the so-called stomach of St. Barts. Like usual, Molly stepped out of the morgue and walked down the corridor to her small office. The signal was much better there.

Typing away quickly, she sent her usual text message to DI Lestrade : "I've got one of yours ready. Want to drop by for a coffee so that I can tell you what I found out? I'm in my office, as usual. M. Hooper"


	2. 02: Gregory

Radio message: "This is... what is left of Scotland Yard speaking. Do you read me?" *listens to the fluctuation noise*

Should loot the evidence room. There are guns in there. On the other hand... there will be an Anderson in there, as well.

2B-A-30, PSG-90, AK-47, AR-7, SW 99... blessed be London's criminals... Glock 17...Anderson... ANDERSON!

Who would have guessed that I get along with a crossbow. *removes quarrel from Anderson's head*

Weapons were not everything, he remembered. But it wasn't bad to carry some with him, just nothing too heavy that would slow him down. Before he left the evidence room again, literally armed to the teeth, he spontaneously decided to take the crossbow with him.

Odd, what stuff one could find down here. He never paid much attention to it before. A last look at the dead... finally dead... Anderson and he left the room, the door making a soft "click" when closing.

Strange how little it affected him that he just killed a former colleague. Was he already at the state that those "things" weren't living creatures in his eyes anymore?

He pushed the thought away and concentrated on his way. Just out of the building. God knows what would be waiting for him around the next corner.

Somewhere close was a movement and something that sounded alarmingly like gnawing.

Lestrade peeked around the corner and nearly dropped the crossbow from his shoulder. What he saw was Sally Donovan sinking her teeth into Detective Inspector Dimmock's neck.

"I knew you were flirting with him, but that goes a little far.", Lestrade muttered to himself before he took the crossbow and aimed at her head.

Before he was able to pull the trigger he heard a noise that caused his blood to run cold.

The phone in his pocket.

Text message.

Fuck.

He found himself in the centre of a very unwanted attention. Sally, Dimmock and, as he turn around, the bloody Chief Superintendent. Of all people.

It was time to abandon the crossbow although the noise of the gunshots would probably attract even more... "former colleagues".

Great.

Much to his own distress had he never been a very good shooter and his aim was rather terrible, especially in a situation with a lot of adrenaline involved.

It took him three attempts for each of them and five for the Chief Super.

Lestrade found a certain satisfaction in the sight of his former (a word he would probably going to use a lot in the next weeks) superior dropping to the floor and not moving anymore, aside from the puddle of blood that spread fast underneath his head.

Actually he was relieved when he reached the parking area without further incidents.

Car... although there was a risk that the streets would be jammed already, who could know. It was worth a try.

He hesitated... whereto? ... and remembered the message that got him into slight trouble earlier.

Molly Hooper. Coffee. Was she serious?!

Lestrade frowned. At least she was alive and he had his next destination although a hospital was one of the worst places to be during ... whatever it was what was going on here.

He made a mental note about getting more quarrels before he got into the car and started the engine.


	3. 03: Molly

The silence was odd. Molly didn't pay much attention to it before, due to her MP3 player and her earphones.  
Still, she busied herself with usual, know tasks while she was waiting for DI Lestrade to drop by. Maybe he was able to tell her what the hell was wrong today.

It wasn't just the silence.  
Normally, her phone rang quite often, or colleagues were dropping by for a chat or, more often, to bring or get results. Or dead bodies.

The morgue had always been her perfect hiding place, far away from the normal hospital life. Not everyone was allowed in here, and not everyone even wants to take one single step into the hall of the dead.  
The main part of Bart's was always full of life, always noisy, always busy. Molly's morgue was a secret, but yet quite cold haven. Her haven.

She looked up when she heard footsteps on the corridor outside. DI Lestrade, most likely. With a smile on her face, Molly Hooper poured the coffee, not paying much attention to the odd groaning and scuffling outside.


	4. 04: Gregory

As he feared, the streets were blocked. By other cars, buses and...tanks?  
This wasn't London anymore. It was a battlefield.

Lestrade abandoned the car; to his own amusement he caught himself looking for a parking lot. He wondered where all the "un-beings" vanished to. The streets were too quiet for his taste.  
It took some time to decide which weapon he would take with him. The Glock of course.  
Light but effective and he was used to the handling. One of the heavier guns? Probably not. They were loud and he didn't have much ammunition for them.  
But the crossbow. He liked it. Silent but not less deadly and if needs be he could use the quarrels as lances.  
The way to St Barts seemed to be infinite. Lestrade couldn't remember when he walked there the last time. And the obstacles didn't make it any easier.

Nothing in the world was able to prepare him for the sight St. Bart's offered.  
Or the stench.  
The hospital had been overrun in an instant and the dead-dead bodies piled up in front of the main entrance. He saw with a creeping horror that some of them were still moving even with those - under "normal" circumstances - deadly holes in their chests and blood smeared all over their clothes.  
Lestrade backed off and chewed on his bottom lip. The crossbow felt heavy on his shoulders.

It was impossible to enter the building. Not alone and definitely not through those doors.  
'Think, Gregory! You've been here so often. Where is the morgue? What ways lead there?'  
He wondered if he was insane to even consider trying to get into the morgue. Of all the possible places. But there was still someone alive in there.  
Maybe he could at least warn her?

He retrieved his phone from the pocket and sent a message to Molly Hooper; without much hope that it would come through. The signal was weak but he was too afraid to call her in case she wasn't alone anymore:

"Waiting at the backdoor. Area will be cleaned as good as possible. Be careful. Don't get bitten. GL"

He made his way to said backdoor, careful, attentive and very, very silently.  
He didn't pay any attention to the rooftops.


	5. 05: Molly

All will be cleaned?  
Don't get bitten?

Molly stared at Lestrade's text message in slight disbelief. Did the DI drink too much? Or had a bad dream? Or was he just mocking her?  
The footsteps from the corridor stopped the minute the text message arrived, which caused her phone to vibrate slightly in the pocket of her lab coat. She wasn't very fond of stupid and annoying ring tones.

Molly took a deep breath and pressed her palm flat against the door. What was it out there? Were there footsteps again?  
"Detective Inspector? Are you there?"  
Her voice sounded weak but Molly wasn't even able to finish the question when someone -something- threw oneself forcefully against the door. With a shriek she backed off until her retreat was stopped by her desk.

A weapon. A need something to defend myself.

Hectically Molly looked around, wincing whenever the whatever it was outside bumped against the door. There.  
She smiled. A baseball bat. A present she received on her first day at work. Her colleagues were mocking her back then, telling her she may need to fight against the morgue zombies one day.  
Oh sweet irony.  
But was it a Zombie on the other side of her office door? She knew the films. The way it worked. And now Lestrade's text. Don't get bitten.

Another loud, crashing sound from outside and an arm found its way through a hole in the wooden door.  
Blood. An awful sound, a mixture of groans and muffled screams from a throat unable to form proper words. And a face.  
The prostitute from the slab.

Without thinking twice, Molly grabbed the baseball bat and moved to the wall right next to the door. If she wanted to get out of here, she had to do something about this..thing. Her. It. The Zombie. As weird as it was.  
And so Molly Hooper stood with her back against the wall, drawing deep breaths and testing the weight of the bat in her hands. Could work. Had to work.  
Her hand was trembling nevertheless when she finally reached for the door handle. Unlocking it, Molly threw the door open with one quick movement.

The former prostitute made an awful and eventually cheerful sound and rushed into the small room, only to make contact with the baseball bat. Molly hit the head of the creature. Once. Twice. Again and again until there was not much left that reminded of a head.

And Molly ran.  
Somehow her bag found its way to her shoulder and was now slapping against her hip. She didn't bother holding it in place. The baseball bat was more important.

Backdoor. Backdoor. Backdoor.  
Around the corner, nearly slipping on the blood under her soles.  
Not looking at the morgue. Do. Not. Look.  
Reaching the backdoor, Molly fumbled with the lock and keys, the groaning behind her coming closer and closer. She nearly ripped it open, the sudden sunlight blinding her for a moment, when she rushed outside, threw the door shut and leaned against it.


	6. 06: Gregory

The sound of the door made him turn around and aim the crossbow directly at Molly's head.  
If he would have been in possession of a nervous twitch, she would be very dead by now.

He stared at her, bewildered.  
"Ms Hooper...", he eventually managed to croak, the crossbow slightly lowered.  
"Did you get bitten? Are you alright?", he let his eyes wander over her appearance, blood - black and red and something he was pretty sure once belonged to a brain.

Molly looked startled but they had no time to spare for long explanations.  
The typical groaning and scuffing of at least a few of those things came closer.

Lestrade shoved the crossbow over his shoulder in a smooth movement and grabbed her hand.

"Run!", he yelled.


	7. 07: Molly

It took her a few seconds to realise that the voice talking to her belonged to DI Lestrade.

Alright? Bitten?

"Yes. No. She didn't bite me. Your prostitute. I knocked her out."

She still sounded a bit mousy, most likely because of the fact that the DI pointed a crossbow at her. A crossbow? Seriously? A crossbow.  
A chuckle left her lips, interrupted by a small shriek and the command to run.

And she did. She gave Lestrade's hand a tiny little squeeze and followed him, not even thinking twice.

Don't stumble. Don't fall. If you do, he will leave you behind.

They rushed around a corner when Molly suddenly stopped mid-step.

"Stamford."


	8. 08: Gregory

Lestrade noticed several things.  
Mousy Molly carried a baseball bat with her, she said "your prostitute", which would have made him chuckle if they had met at the morgue to discuss a case and that... but her "Stamford" interrupted the string of thoughts.

Mike Stamford, the chubby but gentle and charming classroom assistant, looked - and Lestrade failed to find any other word - hungry.  
"The fat ones get eaten first.", he remarked dryly and calculated if it was more sensible to get rid of hungry- Mike via a quarrel or with a good ol' gunshot.

Gun was faster. And louder. But Mike looked really hungry and the crossbow would take longer to adjust and... just as he was about to come to a decision, Molly made a sound that astonished and startled him (a growl) and lifted the baseball bat.

When he witnessed with what amount of rage she hit what was formaly Mike Stamford, he wondered how frustrated she must have been with ...her job? Her life?  
It was not very nice to watch at all but in the end there was a corpse with a bashed in head, a heavily breathing Ms Hooper, a worried former Detective Inspector and a saved bullet.

At least something.  
"We need to get away from here and seek for a shelter. It is getting dark.", Lestrade said after he regained a straight face.


	9. 09: Molly

Molly felt a sudden burst of energy when she saw Mike Stamford approaching them, blood everywhere across his face and even dripping from his mouth..and teeth. The energy quickly turned into anger. He, Mike, was the reason why she was trapped at work for days. He should have helped her. He and his students. They never showed up.

"Four days", she growled, walked a tad faster than the DI and swung her baseball bat in the direction of Stamford's ugly face. He had been nice. Once. He wasn't anymore.  
The first blow made Zomford stop, his head knocked back. The second blow dislocated his mandible. The next one sent him to the ground, his head dangling back and forth.  
Another blow, aiming at the head. And again. And again. And again.  
Molly barely noticed the pieces of skin, bone and apparently brain tissue, as well, flying past her head, leaving stains on her clothes.

"You. Are. Not. Going. To. Bite. Me. Or. Greg."  
Hit. Smack. Bang.

Then Molly stood there, breathing heavily, her gaze locked on dead-dead Zomford. No. Not dead-dead. He was moving a finger. Another quite precise hit with the bat stopped his afterlife finally...  
And made Molly giggle.

"Double Tap."

She locked up when she heard Lestrade's voice.

"A shelter sounds good. And we should look for water. And food."

With one last look at Zomford Molly backed off and took Lestrade's hand again.  
"Let's go."


	10. 10: Gregory

"Double Tap?", Lestrade was amused. "You saw it, too, didn't you?"  
How odd to make jokes about it when she just killed Mike Stamford with a baseball bat.

"We both need some new clothes. And something to eat and drink.", he agreed and already knew where he was going to lead her.

He visited the shop for military supplies a while back when he was looking for a new pouch for the handcuffs.  
Senior officers usually let Constables and Sergeants do this part of the business and just stuck to state the Miranda warnings but Lestrade felt more comfortable with the weight of a good and solid pair of handcuffs on the back of his belt.

He led her careful through the streets. It was astonishing how fast a metropolis can go to ruin. Papers lying around, intermingled with pound notes - gone use- and valueless within just a few days time. There wasn't 'poor or rich' anylonger.  
Their society now parted into dead, undead and alive.

Lestrade just hoped that there was a room for the shop assistants to take their breaks. Which hopefully included a fridge or at least a cupboard with some cans of Ravioli and a few bottles of water. He would have been content with anything edible at the moment.

The way was long and exhausting and - as Lestrade thought - unnerving. He never liked those hide and seek games and he distasted this dangerous variation of it.  
Bullets were precious. A new kind of currency. Like food and water.  
Silence was even more precious.

They nearly got stuck in a dead end when Lestrade wasn't able to remember the right way and he came into the doubtful pleasure to test how good quarrels work as a dagger in a melee with a slobbering undead butcher... the staff and a good lot of their customers.

To pick the lock of the shop - who the hell locks his doors before he fights for survival? - was just a minor irritation.  
The air was thick and the silence uncomfortable.

Lestrade looked back at Molly with a small smile.


	11. 11: Molly

Molly admired him. They way he defended himself..and her..with the quarrels. She never thought that he was able to move that quickly. Whenever she met Lestrade, he was exhausted, tired, stressed and in desperate need for coffee.  
DI Lestrade still looked exhausted. Molly felt exhausted. Quite a lot in common.

The shop was locked. A plus. If they were lucky there wouldn't be any..not dead person waiting inside for them.

"You are able to pick a lock? I'm impressed."

Molly smiled and walked past him into the shop. Slowly. As silent as possible.  
There was no one except the dead-dead guy in the corner. His head was missing.  
"Poor sod."

She stretched herself and made a sound that could remind someone of a cat enjoying the sunlight. A low purr, her eyes closed and her head tilted back.  
"I could murder for a shower."


	12. 12: Gregory

"If I only knew that I could impress you that much by picking a lock.", he remarked dryly but with a wink.  
He threw a look at the corpse when she made the remark. "Smelly sod. But at least he doesn't try to eat us."  
Lestrade was sometimes a rather practical man.

"You stay here. I'll check the other rooms."  
It wasn't because he thought Molly wasn't able to defend herself or both of them, he just found it unnecessary to let her risk her life, as well.

There were three further rooms.  
The room for the staff members, empty of any undead things and to his relief supplied with a water cooler half full and, as far as he could tell from a first glance, a few chocolate bars spread over a table.  
The second room was the storing place. One of the neon lamps flickering and making the shelves with cartons and plastic boxes appear more haunting than it actually was.  
Lestrade noticed the heavy fire door and the lack of a window. Perfect.  
And also clean of all unwanted surprises.  
The third room was a simple restroom. Unfortunately without any shower.

He returned to Molly, a lot more relaxed.  
"All clear. We can stay here for a few hours. Getting some sleep. Just the food is not very posh.", he half smiled and added after a moment.  
"Sorry for that. But my favourite italian restaurant closed down all of a sudden." He shrugged and looked a bit like a snotty schoolboy who has only mischief on his mind.

With a nonchalant bow he said: "Ms Hooper, do you want to go shopping with me?"


	13. 13: Molly

While Greg.. Lestrade, while "Lestrade" was checking the shop and its rooms, Molly leaned the baseball bat against a wall for a moment and looked down on herself. Stains of blood and apparently brain tissue added a quite interesting colour arrangement of bright red and pitch black to the white of her lab coat she was still wearing, her cream-coloured trousers and her mauve-coloured blouse. No cat prints or floral patterns today. Luckily.

Molly smiled when she saw him grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  
"Such a shame. I'd love to have pasta or pizza with you. We never ate something together. Not even lunch. It was always just coffee. And a few biscuits. Or a cupcake. I always thought a sugar-y treat would cheer you up a bit. Especially when you were looking sad. You don't do now. You are grinning. Like a very happy cat."

She stopped suddenly and blushed.  
"Apologies. I'm babbling. The nerves. Bit new. All of this. Killing Stamford with a baseball bat. Not my usual daily workout."  
Another pause. She didn't dare to look into his eyes. Instead she focused on his shoes. His favourite ones, she noticed.

Molly was forced to look at him again when he mentioned the shopping.  
"Shopping? With you? In here?"  
She let her gaze wander.  
"I'd love to."  
And then Molly Hooper smiled. Not her mousy-and-shy-smile, no. A wide and honest one, full of energy and, as odd as it might sound, joy. It was her. The Molly Hooper behind the pathologist. The true Molly. A Molly who didn't care about what other could eventually think about her. Right now, she was just Molly Hooper, a girl in the middle of a great adventure.

Enjoy the small things.


	14. 14: Gregory

He didn't realise that he was grinning.  
"Yeah... well. I think I'm just glad that I'm not all on my own. Unfortunately Anderson found my flesh way too attractive when I was busy looting the evidence room and Sally got very ... bitey towards Dimmock. And I've never been very fond of the Chief Super.", he said when a sudden thought made him fall silent.

He looked down at his shoes. "Do you think Sherlock and John are still alive?"  
Where Donovan, Anderson and Dimmock had always been 'just' good colleagues he actually considered John as a friend and Sherlock... he was more than a colleague but not particularly a friend. Lestrade always felt the urge to look after him. Sort of.

"Uhm. Well... shopping. I pay!" He exclaimed and wandered off to the supplies of male military clothes.  
He never liked camouflage that much but he found the heavy jackets with their several pockets and the strong fabric rather practical. He considered new shoes, as well. Leather boots with a thick sole. But that also meant the danger of hurtful blisters and he decided against new shoes for the moment.

"Where shall we go? Did you hear anything about safe spots?", he asked in her vague direction while he changed into the new found clothes.

They looked odd. On him and especially with his old shoes.  
Lestrade peeked around the corner in the very moment when Molly pulled a beige-coloured top over her head.  
He liked how the muscles moved under the skin of her back.

To avoid any awkwardness he cleared his throat.  
"Fancy some water and a delicious supper of chocolate bars with even more chocolate bars?"


	15. 15: Molly

"You killed the Chief Super? Seriously?" Molly had to laugh. She couldn't help it. The thought of the chubby Chief Super on the run to nibble Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was far too amusing.  
"So..there is no one else left? Just you?"  
That was probably why he came looking for her after all. Like he said: I think I'm just glad that I'm not all on my own.

Molly hesitated and started browsing through the shelves before she answered his question about Sherlock and John.  
"I think.. I hope they are still alive. I mean, they are used to extreme and dangerous situations. And John is a soldier..was a soldier.. And Sherlock..he can handle a gun. Or other weapons. They are able to defend themselves and I refuse to believe that they already got bitten.. They are neither dead nor one of those things out there."

It took her some time to find proper clothes. A beige-coloured top, one of those military jackets, and trousers, which were fitting nicely into the brown leather bootees she was wearing for work recently.  
Greg's voice behind her startled her and she turned around on the spot to look at him, slightly blushing and with her arms covering her breasts. A unnecessary gesture, going by the fact that she actually was dressed. With the top.

"I don't know anything about safe spots. I didn't know what was going on anyway. No one told me a thing. No one came for me", she answered, while she pulled the trousers on, as well. "Just you."

"Water and chocolate bars is my favourite dish."  
Smiling, she grabbed a light backpack she found while looking through the shelves and put two more tops, another pair of trousers, panties and some socks into it, together with a bowie knife, and shouldered it, before she finally looked at Greg. Really looked.  
"Suits you. In a way. I like the shoes."

With one last glance at her lab coat, Molly walked towards Greg.  
"Let's have dinner." Chuckling, she grabbed her baseball bat again -just in case- and headed for the back of the shop to store her things in the room with the water cooler.  
Another thought made her leave the room again. Rushing through the shop, she collected sleeping bags, camping mats and a few blankets and carried everything back into the small room.  
"I don't like freezing. And I can't risk you catching a cold."


	16. 16: Gregory

Lestrade listened to her. She was probably right about John and Sherlock.  
"Thanks. Those are my favourite shoes.", he remarked and noticed how random that sounded. "We should get you one of the batons we have... had... for the force. They are not so heavy but equally effective."

He watched her curiously when she started to collect all those item until it dawned on him what she was on about.  
"Oh... I thought about the store room for our doss. Heavy door and no window.", he half smiled and wondered again how easy it was to play along with this apocalypse.  
"Any idea where we should go? We can't stay in London. The city had way too many inhabitants, who are still around. As in dead men walking."

He thought about the small town where he was born but it would mean quite a journey. But wherelse could they go?  
Lestrade needed, wanted and longed for a destination. Something to focus on, a goal to achieve, another place to arrive to.

"We can move the "beds" later. I'm starving.", he said and rummaged the few cupboards for two glasses and plates before he gathered the chocolate bars and arranged them on the plates. It was a meager dinner, way too sugary but it was all they had for now.

It crossed his mind that even this meager meal was nice with Molly Hooper as his company. He should have asked her out when there were still restaurants to go to and Pubs to invite her for some proper drinks afterwards.  
But then again, he didn't know if she was someone who liked to spend a saturday evening in a loud Pub.

Actually he knew hardly anything about her.  
Lestrade frowned and sat down when a sudden sound of shattering glass made him jump and stretch his hand out to grab the crossbow that leaned against the wall behind him.


	17. 17: Molly

"I know. I mean, I know that those are you favourite shoes."  
Molly smiled. The honest smile again, not the mousy Molly one.  
His remark about the store room made her stop midstep. Of course he was right. Heavy door. No windows. A perfect hiding place. A perfect trap. But still, better than showing everyone they were here by walking past a window every now and then, visible for all things around.

She leaned against the counter and watched him, his movements, his expression, the way he used to run his tongue along his bottom lip every now and then. It made him appear playful, in a way. Younger, even. Molly realised that she didn't know much about him. He had a wife once, but then there was a time when she found him sleeping whereever he could, even in front of her freezer, and DI Dimmock mentioned that the "Good Inspector Lestrade" spent night after night in his office. So, divorced by now, probably. He didn't come for his wife. He didn't look for her in the ruins of life around them. He came for her. It made her feel special.

"We should leave the city and go as far away as possible. A village, maybe. Something small. Didn't you mention a village or a small town, once? Westom..something with Weston, I believe. Shall we try our luck there?"

Molly sat down and ran her hands through her hair when the sound of shattering glass startled her, as well as Greg.  
She bent forward to avoid stepping in front of Greg and the crossbow and grabbed her baseball bat.

"I will go." She put a finger on his lips before he was able to speak. "Don't argue. You checked this shop. It is my turn now."  
And with that, Molly left the room and Greg behind.

Each step she took was nearly soundless. Quiet as a cat.  
Slowly, she made her way to the front door of the shop. Nothing. The shop windows were still intact, the door was closed. Still.. the sound was close. Carefully, Molly threw a look out of the window. It was getting dark, and she could barely see the other side of the street. Something was moving.. Or did she just imagine it?

In front of Greg, she tried to sound brave, but Molly would have been betraying herself when she said she wasn't afraid. In fact, Molly Hooper was terrified. But the fear didn't freeze her. it seemed to make her stronger. She wanted to get out of here. Alive. Together with Greg. Maybe they were even able to find John and Sherlock. Or anyone else they knew. Someone.

The shadow outside moved again. A dog. And the sound they heard? Apparently the dog knocked a bin over in order to find something edible.  
Molly took a deep breath and surpressed a laugh. Scared of a dog, how ridiculous was that?  
Still smiling, she joined Greg again.  
"All clear."


	18. 18: Gregory

"What was it?"  
He didn't touch their "dinner" although he was by now looking like starving any minute. He even managed it to compose himself and not gobble the chocolate bars down as soon as he unwrapped them.

"Small village?", he picked up the conversation. "You mean Weston - super - Mare. It is quite a journey...", he didn't want to tell her about the uneasy feeling the thought of undead neighbours caused.  
"Can't believe I told you about that. I must have babbled so much nonsense when the only thing that kept me from passing out on the spot was coffee." He smiled against the spreading twilight in the small room.

When Molly had finished her chocolate dinner, he started to move the sleeping bags to the store room and went to find them a few canteens to empty the water cooler and some torches and batteries. The hunt for the latter was rather disappointing. Lestrade made a mental note about taking care about further light sources in case they were forced to spend more than one night... where? Outside a flat? A home?

He built a "nest" in record time and smiled when she stepped next to him.  
"I think we should alternate with one another. You sleep first, I'll keep watch and wake you up after... 4 hours?"  
Lestrade wouldn't accept any protests and was content when she got comfortable.  
"I hope you don't mind to keep the torches switched off for the moment. The less we draw their attention on us, the better we can get away from here at dawn."  
He leaned against the wall and watched her for a while.

The night came unusually quiet. No wailing sirens, no cars and shouts, no drunkards or giggling tourists.  
Just gnawing and growling in the far distance. Low and a constant reminder that London changed.  
That the world changed.

Or at least, his world, Lestrade thought. And he wondered if there would ever be a way back or a way forward.  
At the moment they got stuck in an anarchic status quo that showed them how fragile the utopia had been they all lived in for a while.

He sighed.


	19. 19: Molly

Moving the sleeping bags into the store room made her feel a tad afraid, but Molly would never admit that in front of Greg Lestrade. Instead, she just smiled and helped him to carry everything.  
She also didn't like the idea of him staying awake even longer. Still, Greg ignored everything she said to him quite stubbornly and finally got comfortable on the floor.

"The dark doesn't scare me much right now."  
No light was actually a good plan, a perfect plan. A flicker of light could make their hiding place know to others. And would waste batteries.

Molly turned to look at him leaning against the wall and pulled the sleeping back up to her chin. Finding sleep wasn't an option in this very moment. Her mind was running wild. What about her mum? Was she safe? Did she got away? And Meena, her lovely neighbour. Somehow, Molly was relieved that Toby, her cat, died last month. It was an awful, heartless thought and it hurt her, but he was safe now. She wasn't sure if Greg would have allowed her to risk her life for a cat. Because one thing was sure: Molly Hooper wouldn't have left London without even trying to rescue her cat.  
All wishful thinking now.

With a small sigh, Molly moved closer towards Greg. The floor was cold. Greg was warm. Hot, even. Like a furnace. A source of warmth.

At some point, Molly lifted her hand to touch Greg's sleeve, a piece of fabric finding its way between her thumb and index finger. She was just holding it, keeping contact.  
"Don't look at him", she told herself over and over again. "Don't look. If he notices what you are doing, you will probably die of embarrassment."

"Gregory."

His name. Just a whisper. Molly didn't even notice she said that out loud.

"Are you scared? Because I am."

And with that Molly Hooper snuggled close, her forehead nearly touching him.


	20. 20: Gregory

He thought about her question for a while. "Yes, I am.", he eventually answered in all honesty.  
He wasn't afraid when he forced the first quarrel into Anderson's left eye or when it took him five precious bullets to finish the Chief Super who was trying to snap at him the entire time. Not with words but with his teeth.

Lestrade was afraid when he received her message.  
It was different to take care and be responsible just for yourself or if there was a second person you feel the need to protect, you bond with and in a world like theirs had become, a person that was the last remain of normality, the last straw that kept you sane.  
He was afraid when he thought about loosing her again and what this loss would mean to him. The thought that it could be vice versa never occured to him.

The gentle tug on his sleeve made him tense for a second and when she whispered his name - the proper name not the surname people usually called him by - he felt strangely flattered.  
He wondered for a brief moment over the countless "what ifs".

What if he had asked her out for dinner.  
What if she had sent her message a day earlier.  
What if they would have had a proper date.  
What if...

All those possibilites and yet they ended up in the middle of an apocalypse, clinging to each other like two frightened children in the dark.  
"Shhh. I'm here.", he whispered back and added after a moment: "Molly."

He listened to her breathing that became deeper and more relaxed after a while.  
The worst thing about a nightwatch were the thoughts that formed in his mind. Like the what ifs a little earlier he asked himself countless questions, invented a hundred possible scenarios for colleagues and friends, the nice cashier in the supermarket who always flirted with him.

Images haunted him. Details he noticed while running past them returned to the surface of his consciousness.  
The closed doors of cars and something moving behind the windows, the abandoned pram with the blanket pulled back and half dropped to the ground and the stains of blood - red and black - on the handle.  
Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut and gently put a hand on the back of the sleeping Molly Hooper next to him.

He let her sleep for a little more than four hours. Like "back in the old days" he was so overtired that he fell asleep almost immediately and like she did before, he snuggled close to Molly, holding the hem of her top lightly between indexfinger and thumb.  
He woke up a few hours later. It was still dark outside but he felt restless; nervous.  
"Try to get some more sleep.", he said to Molly, his voice still a little hoarse and the speech slurred from the interrupted rest.

Maybe it was the false feeling of security behind the windows of the shop and the - as it seemed - empty street on the other side and the lack of sleep that made him a little careless, a little too light- hearted.  
He found his old coat. A relict from a time that seemed gone for ages by now and retrieved one of the cigarettes.  
Just one more. There were things out there that would kill him way faster than smoking, he thought with a hint of sarcasm.

Lestrade opened the door of the shop carefully and silently. The breeze of cool London air took the breath from his lips for a second and the drizzle on his skin made him shiver.  
Even now the air was still rich with the so well known scents of the metropolis. He found it oddly comforting.  
All was quiet and nothing moved.  
He took his time and avoided to muse about the echoes of gunshots from another part of the city. No chance of those sounds belonging to fireworks for the sky remained unlit.

The glowing tip of the cigarette was the only source of a little light in the street.  
How fast the power supply for the streetlamps died down and how dark it could become in the heart of his beloved London.

When he was finished he returned back inside and made sure the door was locked properly.  
But he already draw some unwanted attention to Molly's and his shelter.  
Lestrade decided to let Molly sleep and watch over here until it dawned and they would move forward. He felt refreshed from air and rain and yet he dozed off an hour later.

Slurp. Slurp. Bang. Slurp. Slurp. Growl.

Lestrade frowned and tried to reach out to snooze the alarm clock. Instead he touched Molly's head and was wide awake a second later.  
Intruder, he thought. They had been found.  
"Molly... wake up!", he whispered in an undertone of panic. "We need to go. Now! They found us."  
He packed one of the rucksacks with agitated movements. The canteens with water, what was left of their chocolate dinner, torches and the few batteries, knives and a few other things they gathered which would hopefully prove themselves usefull the next few days.  
He looked at Molly, who was wide awake and not less stressed. He handed her the rucksack and grabbed the crossbow.

The front window bursted in the same moment when they left the store room. A quick count had the result of twenty hungry figures limping and scuffing into the salesroom. This way was blocked.  
Think! Think! Faster!

"Staff room! Window!", Lestrade stated and - to his suprise - got dragged there by Molly the blink of an eye later. She hold his hand so tight that it hurt.  
With her free hand she made use of her faithful companion - the baseball bat - and smashed the window in. A quick glance outside assured her that the area was clear from any hungry "people". Minding the shards that still stuck in the frame, Molly wriggled herself through the small opening. Lestrade handed her the rucksack and the crossbow and made efforts to follow her outside.

A sharp pain in his calf distracted him for a moment. One of the shards must have cut his flesh open. He was at Molly's side again a second later. They both looked back to the former window and the gawping mouths of some restless and ever hungry Londoners where already there.  
"Run!", Molly yelled like Lestrade did when they met outside St. Bart's.  
Two streets, left, another corner, right, left and right again.

Lestrade stopped in the middle of the street.  
The black windows of the houses left and right the street looked at them like silent witnesses. Black gaps. Emotionless, disinterested, silent.  
"Molly.", he said and the graveness of his tone made her turn around.  
She knew.  
The second their glances met, she knew.  
The torn trousers leg, the blood that seeped through. Red and black.  
"Gregory." The unspoken plead in her voice. No. No!It was not fair.

He retrieved his Glock from the holster under the jacket with shaking hands, his fingers cold from fear and the drizzle that started again.  
How fitting. How appropriate.

"Please.", he said and closed the distance between them with a few bounding strides. He put the gun in her hand.  
"I don't want to...", he trailed off and Molly took the gun. Their fingers touched for a second.

"I wish I had asked you for a date and I wish I would have kissed you standing in front of your doorstep. Be brave, Molly Hooper, the world became ghastly and is in dire need of so wonderful human beings like you. I'm sorry, that I can't stay with you. That you will have to make me go."

The words drained him, took away the last bits of strength and composure. He sat down on the street and leaned against Molly when she sat down next to him.  
Time is never enough when there will a goodbye in the end.

He looked into her eyes when it started and didn't look away once when it ended.  
A last breath. A last whisper.

"I think I loved you."

Stillness.


	21. 21: Molly

His presence made her feel safe and sound, and finally his calm and steady breaths lulled her into a dreamless sleep. The only thing she heard, even in her sleep, was the way he said her name.

Molly. I'm here. Molly.

They switched positions after a few hours and Molly smiled when she felt the gentle tug on the hem of her top. Her hand found its way into Greg's hair while she listened to the sounds surrounding them. The sounds of a dying London. Without the constant humming of car engines, the mutter of thousands of people rushing through the streets, the sound of a city full of life London wasn't The London anymore. This city outside was something new. Something different. Dangerous for the human beings still alive.

London. City of the Living Dead.

Molly's gaze wandered down to the sleeping Gregory next to her. Even now, he looked exhausted. But that was something about him she knew. She never saw him asleep. It occured to her that she loved to watch him sleep. The small frown. His lips, slightly parted. She expected that he would snore, but he didn't.

And suddenly Molly Hooper realised that she would have loved it to wake up next to Gregory Lestrade in a world that still was normal.  
"I should have asked you out", she whispered, too afraid of waking him up. "I only saw Sherlock. For months, years even, I only saw Sherlock Holmes. I knew you. But I never saw you. Not really. And now.. The world as we know it is about to fade away and all I can think of are the what ifs."

She hesitated. Maybe, when they found a way out of the city. Weston-super-Mare. It sounded nice. And she'd like to see the place where Gregory was born. They would find a house. A safe place. With a garden in the backyard, for fruit, vegetables and herbs. They would survive. And start a new life.

Was falling in love in the middle of an apocalypse stupid? Too romantic?  
Or was it hope? Something to cling to when the world was falling apart?

She didn't care. Molly Hooper didn't care.  
She knew. Now.

"I think I love you, Gregory Lestrade."  
A whisper in the dark.  
Hope.

The feeling didn't grown during the last few hours. It had been there for quite a while, lurking, waiting, for the right moment. It only needed an apocalypse for Molly to realise that Gregory Lestrade already owned her heart, while she was still chasing a dream.  
Not anymore.  
She would tell him. Soon. Not now. But soon. In a night or two. When they were out of London. When they found a safe place.  
When. When. When.  
What if..

Molly woke him up after about five hours of sleep, as much as it hurt her to steal this few moments of peace away from him. She loved the hoarse sound of his voice. The way she messed up his hair. His smile. His eyes. Those wonderful, bright and kind eyes.

I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life.

She fell asleep, the thought of spending her life with Gregory haunting her.  
A movement next to her. His scent in her nose. She snuggled closer again without waking up properly, her hand finding his sleeve again. Something to cling to. Lifeline. Hope. Peace. Love.

"Molly...wake up!"  
Within seconds she was wide awake. They found us. They found us.  
They didn't need to exchange any more words or commands while packing their stuff as quick as possible. Molly slung the rucksack around her shoulders, adjusted it properly, checked briefly if the knife on her belt was still there and grabbed the baseball bat.  
Her hands weren't trembling. They never did. Scalpel and trembling hands, two things which didn't go well together.  
But she was scared. Of course she was.

Rushing out of the store room, Molly immediately realised that the way through the front door was blocked. The living dead. Mouths wide open, blood dripping down their faces, bright red and pitch black.  
She grabbed Greg's hand the moment he suggested the staff room and rushed away with him, not letting go of his hand.

I am not going to lose you.

Smashing the window was easy, even climbing out of it without cutting her skin open on the shards of glass sticking out of the window frame. Molly was small, after all. Greg was taller, his shoulders broad. Still, he made it.  
Her hand was grabbing his again, and then they were running. Running for the lives.  
Away from the creatures. Away from the sounds they were making.  
Away. As far away as possible.

He let go of her hand a moment later. He stopped. He said her name.  
No. No, please. No. Don't do this. No. Please.  
Molly turned around to face him nevertheless.  
Pale. He was already so pale.  
Her gaze wandered to his leg. Torn trousers. Blood. Red and black.  
No.  
She looked into his eyes. She knew. And she knew what he would ask her to do.

"Gregory."  
Her voice pleading.  
She didn't want his gun. She wanted him. Alive and well. Him, not..this.  
His voice caused her heart to break.  
She listend to what he was telling her, tears in her eyes while she felt his fingers touching hers.

"I'd love to go out on a date with you. I'd love to kiss you. Kiss you in front of my doorstep. In the rain."

Don't leave me alone. Don't. I can't do this alone. I can't go on without you.  
Still. He wanted her to go on. To survive.

They sat down next to each other on the cold and wet street. He was leaning heavily against her, his blood seeping on the asphalt, forming strange figures and lines with the rain on the grey ground. Life and death. Never far apart.

Molly kissed his brow. A gentle soothing gesture. He didn't speak again. The speech he gave her drained him.  
His hands were touching hers and the gun in her hands. With slow but steady movements he showed her what she had to do, showed her how to handle a gun. Showed her how to kill him.  
Load. Unlock. Shoot.

How long they sat there, next to each other, without speaking a word? Molly never knew. Time would never be enough for saying goodbye to each other forever.

Gregory made her look into his eyes when it started.  
His eyes were loosing their life, their colour. She cupped his cheek with one hand, not even looking away for a second.  
His last whisper broke her heart. I think I loved you.  
She kissed him, the moment before the last climpse of life left him completely.

"I love you, Gregory Lestrade."

Molly hold him in her arms, the rain soaking her clothes and hair, stealing the warmth of her body. She didn't care. She felt half dead anyway, her tears burning in her eyes and on her cheeks like acid.

A movement dragged her out of her grief. A movement. From him.  
Molly kissed his brow once more, got to her feet and took a few steps backwards, aiming at his head.  
The shoot was awfully loud, his echo ringing in her ears. Another one followed.

Wounds like this weren't new to her.  
Don't feel. Survive. You promised him to survive.

She knew that the shoots were the perfect signal for the undead to come looking after her. She still took her time. And the crossbow. And his ID card. He kept it in the pocket of his jacket. She saw him put it there. It was sentiment, but she wanted to have something that remembered her of him. She could still wake up next to him. Next to an image of him.

"Whereever you are now.. Wait for me. Think of me."

One last look. One. Last. Look.  
The man she loved. It was just too late for them to realise.

Molly took a deep breath and turned her back towards Greg.  
She had to move on.  
New tears were blurring her vision. Or was it just the rain? Who knows.

She took one step. And another. And another. Countless steps, all leading her away from the two most important things. Gregory. And her heart. She left her heart with him. He already owned it anyway.

Survive. She had to survive. And if she should die, one day, then one thing was clear: Molly Hooper would drag as many undead with her to hell as possible.

And then Molly Hooper was running.


	22. 22: Molly

Running. Eating. Sleeping. Fighting.

That was her life now. Molly Hooper's life.  
Without anyone to run with her.

Molly didn't use the gun after she shot Gregory. She just couldn't bring herself to it. And a gunshot always lead to a lot of unwanted attention.  
Still, she slept with the gun next to her head. He gave it to her. And she wanted to keep this one thing close.

She did use the crossbow. In a small shop she stole new quarrels and a small bag to carry them. With the quarrels in the bag slung around her shoulder, Molly was able to reach them quickly. The crossbow was a useful weapon and she grew fond of it. And it has been his, after all.

Finding a shelter and preparing it for the night was some sort of routine by now.  
She had found some bells and rope, and built her own alarm system out of them. Easy to handle. Portable. Light.  
The only way she was even able to fall asleep. Now that she was alone.

When Molly couldn't find any sleep at all, she looked at his picture.  
A few hours after she ended Gregory's second life, Molly smashed the window of a jeweller with her baseball bat and stole a locket big enough to put the picture from the ID card in it. Without the rest of the ID card, of course. But cutting it into pieces was an easy task compared to surviving.

They got her once, when she was restocking supplies at Tesco.  
Thankfully, the backdoor in the store room wasn't locked. But could be blocked from the outside.  
Still, one of them ripped strands of her hair out, which finally lead to the decision to cut it. Now it was just reaching her shoulders, and not falling down her back anymore.

Molly had a destination. Out of town. Whatever it may take.  
She was thinking of trying her luck with the Thames.  
Travelling by boat would be easier, in a way. She would be able to rest. And her feet were already killing her.

But right now, she had to look for another place to spent the night.  
Rooftops were always attractive. Just one door to secure.  
Just one way out.  
Down.

With a quick look at one of the maps she retrieved from one of the countless tourist information spots earlier, Molly decided to choose a more sparsely populated part of London as her current shelter.  
Less people, less dead.

Pocketing the map she took a deep breath and started to walk northwards while she left her sign on the walls of buildings, on the streets or on window glass.  
Two words, written with green spray paint. Green. The colour of hope. Of life.  
Just two words.  
Molly Lestrade.


	23. 23: Molly

It was a wonderful day. The sun was shining, and Molly Hooper stood on a rooftop, her head tilted backwards, her eyes closed.  
The feeling of the warm sunlight made her forget everything around her for a little while.  
Made her forget what became of her London.  
What became of her.

She wasn't wearing the jacket anymore which she found in the shop together with Gregory Lestrade. She lost it.  
And she lost the backpack as well.  
Her clothes were torn, scratches were covering her arms and back.  
Blood was running down her body.  
Bright red and pitch black.

One moment of carelessness. One second. She didn't check the whole corridor before she walked up the stairs to the rooftop. They chased her. She shot quarrels at them, made as many of the walking dead fall down the stairs again as possible.  
Piles of dead bodies.  
It didn't stop the others. Not for long.

Molly fought for her life. She was able to lock the door leading from a small staircase up to the roof. The thuds of bodies throwing themselves against steel filled the air. None of her business. Not anymore.

Sunlight.  
A gentle breeze.  
Birdsong.  
A good day to die.

She left her note on the concrete floor.  
"Molly Lestrade."  
And added a new line. A last line.  
"Deceased."

Taking a deep breath, Molly took one last step, and looked down.  
It was a long way. It was a huge building. Twentyfour stories.  
Long way to ruin.  
She knew her bones will shatter when her body hit the ground. Exactly what she had in mind.

Molly felt the cold creeping through her body. The sunlight wasn't able to keep her warm anymore.  
She turned her back towards the ground and curled her hand around the locket which contained a picture of Gregory Lestrade.

"I hope you are waiting for me."

She felt sorry. She wasn't able to survive in the end, like she promised him before.  
But still. There was one good thing about all this. They will be together. In the end. In the very end.

Molly lifted the gun Gregory gave to her and pressed the muzzle against her chin. The shot would shatter her skull, destroy her brain. The fall would do the rest.  
No second life for Molly.  
No returning as a soulless, ever so hungry creature.

"Gregory."  
A whisper. Her hand around the locket tightened its grip.

The sound of a single gunshot filled the air and Molly was gone.  
Once and for all.


End file.
